


Only Human In The End

by Pineapple_Strawberries_15



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dead character mentioned, Drabble, M/M, just doing my own thing kinda, mentally unstable charles, not entirely canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:49:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineapple_Strawberries_15/pseuds/Pineapple_Strawberries_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything crumbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Human In The End

It happens, or ends, at dawn on a bloody battlefield that smells of flesh and burnt hair. It's mutant vs. humans, the oppressed vs. the oppressor; power is pulsing through Charles, his eyes black, Erik is certain he can see the black veins on the other mans skin _move_ under that smooth pale skin. “This is what happens Charles, this is **war** , there are always casualties of war.” And this is when Charles roars, **“This never had to be war!”** his voice rising above the tired din of leftover human and mutants. Leftover. _Pfft._ _Leftovers, like what you shove at the bottom of your refrigerator only to throw out a week later after it molds._ He can feel the hum of the metal braces on the other man's legs, something Hank, Hank who had his jaw ripped off three hours ago, built to keep him as mobile as possible after Cuba. The smaller man moves slumped and heavy towards Erik, his boots, boots he'd worn in Korea, snapping the wrist of a fallen. . . it's too hard to tell what they were now.

It's a surprising thought, but Erik thinks _'he doesn't even look human.'_ He can look to anyone else, someone with blue scales or even Moira, and think _'yes, that's human. That's natural.'_ It goes against his agenda, his way of thinking and shouting, but it's true. There's no humanity in Charles. Erik doesn't move, he stands as still as he can, though bumps lift on his skin and he wishes to grab Charles and calm him down; didn't he used to have that privilege?

The younger man reaches the older and long fingers twist at Erik's throat, the Jewish man's adams apple bobs and he remains stationary. “What else could I do Charles? Be locked up?” The fingers tighten around his throat and his mouth goes dry, he pinches his lips together and waits for his friend to say something, anything. He can see Raven in the distance. . . Mystique, rising from grass and blood, weak kneed and exhausted, he thought she had died.

  
“You selfish man,” Charles laughs, “other oppressed people don't have the power you have.” The grip around Erik's throat loosens, releases, leaving bloodied finger prints behind. The smaller man is pressing his palms into his eyes, “hurts, hurts, hurts,” breathy and quick. Charles' head suddenly whips up and he looks feral, “I CAN KILL THEM ALL! I HAVE THE POWER TO DO THAT! NOW I HAVE IT!” Erik swiftly grabs the others shoulders and stares at him with wide eyes, “WILL THAT WORK?” Charles' voice is tight and high with hysteria, “IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?” Fine boned hands shake and grip Erik's wrists, a smile reaches Charles' face, lips bitten through and bruised, _“I can do it.”_ He whispers.

  
 _Mutants and humans fight in the streets of America, in China, all over the world; some hide, some hide together. Helicopters still fly overhead, ones who know not to get too close, filming the scenes for anyone still watching the news; daring to sit in living rooms when metal garbage cans go flying through the occasional window and someone is being dragged down the street by their hair, screaming and leaving skin and blood on the asphalt. How long has this gone on? Weeks? Months? It feels like years. What a wonderful future they'll all have when this is all over._   
  
“What are you talking about Charles?”  
“I can do it. I can do it. I can. I just want this to end.” He sobs, those black eyes almost shrinking and showing the whites of his eyes once more.   
“It's always going to be us in the middle of things,” Erik sighs.

  
They stand there for five peaceful minutes, the battlefield has gone quiet and nobody is fighting any longer; a toad boy stands beside a woman who has thrown down her gun and they watch, just like everyone else. The sirens have stopped, there's no more explosions, and you can almost hear the birds again.   
  
“I can do it Erik, I can kill all of the humans. _Us or them._ I'm so tired. Decide now, is that what you want?” Charles' power seemed to surge all around Erik, it was electric and humming through every living thing; and for once Erik had no fight left in him either. His brows knit together and he looked around, hesitant. It could go any way now, couldn't it? _“It will kill them all silently.”_ Charles whispered, “peacefully, like sleep. Or, if you want, I can have them kill each other. Someone will stomp out their own child on a curb until their head cracks and their brain stains the sidewalk. _They'll do the job for us._ ” The peace was lost, Erik's heart sped up and he shook his head.

“I can line them all up and slit their throats where they stand,” his friend was so calm now, but his nails dug into the larger mans wrists enough to draw blood. “DECIDE. DECIDE NOW!” He screamed, pushing Erik away, “I HATE THAT HELMET! I HATE ALL THESE FUCKING THOUGHTS SWARMING AROUND AND I CAN'T STAND ANY MORE! THEY ARE ALL TIRED, ANGRY, PAIN, BLOOD _DROWNING_ THEM!” Charles' hand slapped the side of Erik's head, “ONE TIME. ONE TIME. NOW. DECIDE!” he frantically screamed, charging towards Erik ferociously.

 

Mystique stared holes into Erik from her position behind Charles, neither were a match for him currently, she shook her head- eyes that had lost their innocence long ago were pleading like the little girl she once was. “No.” Erik reached for his helmet and grabbed Charles, brushing back thinning hair and trying to smile despite the fear bubbling beneath his breast. He rested the helmet on his friend's- his lover's, head. Crystalline blues stared up at him, and arms wrapped around his neck instead of hands.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't pretend to know what I'm doing.


End file.
